Mousetrap
by Emerald112
Summary: "This year's arena is designed to trap the tributes; to push them back every time they think they have finally reached their own personal cheese." The 110th Hunger Games! *SYOT CLOSED*
1. Roar Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. It all belongs to Suzanne Collins!**

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**Mousetrap**

**The 110th Hunger Games**

**Roar Part I**

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_You held me down, but I got up_

_Already brushing off the dust_

_You hear my voice, you hear that sound_

_Like thunder gonna shake the ground_

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**Mikra Vode, Daughter of the Head Gamemaker (15)**

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I scurry down the steps, prepared to answer the door, which someone is outside ringing impatiently.

"Coming, coming!" I yell repeatedly. You'd think that living in a house with four other people, I wouldn't always have to be the one answering the door day in and day out, wouldn't you? Well, you would be mistaken. Granted, currently myself, Caelius, and Mifoe are the only ones home, but they should be a little more considerate, shouldn't they?

By the time I throw the door open, I am already huffing in exasperation at my brother and sister, when the man outside winks at me.

"Hello, sweetheart."

He has nicely kept, soft looking brown hair, and sea green eyes which keep looking me up and down. he taps his dress shoe on the threshold.

"Well, sweetheart? You are going to invite me inside, aren't you?"

My eyes pop open and I start to tremble, shaking my head no.

I slam the door in his face with a loud, clack.

For a second, I just stand there.

Then, I start to shriek, and dash of the stairs, pushing open Caelius's bedroom door.

"Caelius! Help! Help! Call the Peacekeepers! Call Mommy! Call Daddy! Do something!"

Caelius, it seems, has just woken up. Mommy is not going to be happy to return home with Daddy from their time at the president's house to plan this year's Hunger Games arena, that Caelius has been slacking off and sleeping late.

"Caelius, do something!"

"What, what?! What happened, Mikra?"

"Th-the man!"

"What?"

I take a deep breath in an effort to calm myself down. "The doorbell rang, so I went down to answer it, and there was this mildly attractive looking man standing there. And he kept calling me 'sweetheart' and then he asked me if I was going to let him in!"

I launch myself into my brother's arms, beginning to sob.

"I don't see what the problem is here."

"Caelius, don't be stupid! He obviously saw me in the streets or something, and with Mommy being Head Gamemaker, the creeper was able to track down our house, and now he's come to rape me."

Caelius throws me out of his embrace - quite forcefully, might I add - and doubles over with laughter. "Mikra, you idiot!"

"What?"

"No offense, Mikra, but no one in their right mind would want to have sex with you of all people."

He continues laughing, and I walk over to the mirror on his wall, examining the glitter I just got had streaked into my hair.

Did they not do a good job with the glitter? I think for a second, before returning to the task at end.

"Clearly the man at the door does."

Caelius starts to laugh even harder.

"Mikra, didn't Mother tell you anything?"

I cross my arms on my chest. "What do you mean 'anything?'"

"I mean anything about this year's Hunger Games . . . about the arena she has planned . . . about the exterminator she hired to experiment with the mice in the basement?"

My mouth falls open in shock and I begin to shriek. "THERE ARE MICE IN THE BASEMENT, AND NOBODY TOLD ME TO GET AS FAR AWAY FROM THIS HOUSE AS I POSSIBLY CAN?! MICE! MICE!"

I carry on shrieking, and Mifoe, my little sister, overhears the screaming about mice, and the door pops open once more, revealing her small, boyish frame. She wears a huge grin on her face as she watches me scrambling about the room, unsure of how to handle the current predicament.

"Did somebody say mice?" her brown eyes pop open against her tan skin as she bounces up and down in excitement. "Where? Where? Can I see them, can I see them, can I see them?!"

I scoff, disgusted. "Mifoe, honestly, I cannot even believe that you are my sister, you are so gross sometimes."

Mifoe cocks her head to the side. "Why thank you, sister dear."

I shake my head at her disapprovingly, but Mifoe only grins in contempt.

"Mikra, go let the exterminator back in!" Caelius puts in - he must have heard me slam the door in said exterminator's face . . .

"Ew! I'm not getting anywhere near that filthy rodent man! You let him in!"

"I'll let him in," Mifoe eagerly volunteers, flying down the spiral staircase before I can protest that Caelius should be the one opening the door.

Caelius and I tentatively trail behind our sister, residing at the top of the stairs, as we watch Mifoe open the door, revealing the exterminator posed perfectly naturally, as if it is every day he rings the doorbell to a Head Gamemaker's mansion and has her daughter shut the door in his face while screeching at the top of her lungs.

"Ah. You must be the youngest Miss Vode," the man takes Mifoe's hand in his and kisses it lightly. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Clearly, your sister does not have as good social skills as you do." I huff at that, but Caelius shushes me. "The name's Spyro Pruette. Has your mother informed you that I would be stopping by to uh . . . for lack of a better word, simulate her newest arena invention."

"No," Mifoe says casually. "No, she didn't mention it . . . at least not to me. It's possible she told Caelius though, being as he's the oldest in the family. But who cares about that. Can I see the mice? Please? Please? Pleeeeease?"

"Well sure, I don't see why not."

I whip around, meaning to get out of any sort of vicinity of whatever disgusting rodents this guy - Spyro - has with him, but Caelius grabs my arm, turning me back around.

"Wait," he whispers harshly. "Don't you want to get a hint at what the arena will be. I mean, being the children of the Head Gamemaker, you'd think we'd get to know before the Games, right? But Mother always refuses to tell us and we have to wait to find out with everyone else. Maybe this Spyro guy will give Mifoe some sort of unintended hint at it."

"Fine," I grumble. Because I do agree with him that I am always curious about what sort of arena Mommy is planning.

Spyro opens up his jacket and unslings a heavy sack which had been slung over his arm from beneath the jacket. I wonder how he got it to fit in there without popping out.

"What's with all the cheese?" Mifoe asks. "Hey, can I have some?" Without awaiting a response, she reaches her hand in. "Ouch!" She emerges with a bloody finger.

Spyro curses under his breath.

"I suppose I'm not supposed to harm little girls on the job, now am I? . . . Well, technically I am, but not the daughters of the Head Gamemaker."

Mifoe shrugs it off. "Doesn't hurt." My sister always says that when something does hurt her. Her eyes widen and she stares into Spyro's. "But what was that for? What does finger traps or whatever those were, have to do with mice?"

Spyro sighs. "You know what, Miss Vode. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, should I? But I think I will. Your finger was just caught in a mousetrap." He takes a deep breath. "This year's arena is designed to trap the tributes; to push them back every time they think they have finally reached their own personal cheese."

"Wow. Wow, thanks Spyro Pruette. Mom never would've told me all of that!"

Caelius and I exchange a look of excitement.

Speaking of our mother, a familiar shiny orange hovercraft comes soaring into view off in the distance, Mommy and Daddy landing a moment later.

Mifoe gives Spyro one final wave of appreciation and wonder. Caelius and I disperse to our own bedrooms before Mifoe dashes up the stairs two at a time. We wouldn't want her to know that we have been eavesdropping.

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**Roar by Katy Perry**

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**Well! Here it is! Emmy SYOT numero dos! I hope everyone was satisfied with the prologue :D I really love writing Capitol people, and Gamemaker's children are no exception! As you can see, they are three entirely different personalities. Like, for example, Mikra calls her parents Mommy and Daddy, Mifoe calls them Mom and Dad, and Caelius calls them Mother and Father. But that's just one little detail :)**

**There was nothing much about president Balthazar in this chapter, in fact, he was not even mentioned, but if you're curious as to how he became president and how the Hunger Games started up again after the rebellion, feel free to check out Part I of the prologue of Heights (just scroll down to the second half)**

**So yeah, everything regarding submissions is on my profile! :D**

**PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, read the rules I have posted before submitting, as the reservation/submission system will be different this time around and it is very complex because I just like complicating your lives like that :D So make sure to read everything on my profile before creating your character!**

**Like I said in my author's note in the last chapter of Heights, I will be doing the two stories AT THE SAME TIME. So no, I am NOT NOT NOT abandoning Heights, I just think doing two at a time will keep me more interested in each one.**

**I'm looking forward to all of the excellent tributes I'm sure I will receive :D**

**Hopefully, you can drop in and leave me a quick little review if you have time (or a nice long one, if you're feeling generous xD)**

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**Aaaaaannnndddd now for the questions!**

_**What do you think of Caelius, Mikra, and Mifoe, the three Head Gamemaker's children?**_

_**Which of the three of them (Caelius, Mikra, or Mifoe) is your favorite and why?**_

_**I made the arena pretty explicit, but you can give me your thoughts/ideas about it please :D**_

_**How was my writing in this chapter?**_

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**That's all for now, everybody :D I can't wait to receive all of your wonderful tributes!**


	2. Roar Part II

**Mousetrap**

**110th Hunger Games**

**Roar Part II**

_You held me down, but I got up_

_Already brushing off the dust_

_You hear my voice, you hear that sound_

_Like thunder gonna shake the ground_

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**Mikra Vode, Daughter of the Head Gamemaker (15)**

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"Hey, Mikra," Stelena Merope drawls at me. "I think this year is finally the year that the so called 'great' Talitta Vode will crack, don't you think?"

I role my eyes at the brute of a girl. I know what you're about to ask, so I'll answer you. Yes, she _is_ always this annoying.

It's not my fault my mother has been a successful Head Gamemaker since the one hundred and third Hunger Games and will no doubt continue on the path of success for many years to come, while Stelena's father messed up so badly the first day on the job as a _regular _Gamemaker that my mother fired him instantaneously. She was really kind. She could have had him put to death if she wanted to, but she didn't. Stelena should really be thanking me. But she's just too selfish to ever thank anyone for anything they or their parents do.

"Nope," I respond. "No, I most definitely do not think so. But you know what I do think?" I smirk. "I think that leopard skin body suit you wear nearly every day is entirely cliche for a Capitol girl, and _so _thirty years ago. I think you have no friends because you are rude and obnoxious. And I think I have to get to class."

I shut my hot pink locker door, and wince as some of the rhinestones fall off of it. Now do you see what I mean about Stelena ruining all the good things in life?

"Ooh. A _feisty _spoiled little girl. But, please, Mikra Vode, when was the last time _you _went to class?"

I smile falsely at her. "Right now."

She's well built, and compared to her I am a scrawny little thing, but causing the rhinestones to fall off of my locker door is the last straw! I plow the bigger girl aside and continue walking, yes, to class of all places, not bothering to look back at her. She doesn't deserve my time, and frankly, one more moment looking at that body suit of hers would make anyone cringe.

"Miss Vode, so nice of you to join us," Ms. Terinathy, my old, horrid history teacher snaps the second I enter the room.

She doesn't like me very much, in case you couldn't tell.

I smile falsely at her though just as I did to Stelena. "Why thank you, Ms. Terinathy. It's always nice to be appreciated. And I like the new face lift I can tell you just got."

She should really ask them to be more discrete about it. Not that I entirely can blame the women. After all these years of no man giving her the time of day she must have been so desperate, she _purposely _asked the surgeon to make her face lift evident so that some guy will take pity on her. I wonder how that's working out for her.

The class laughs as I sit down, the teacher looking appalled with me. But unlike Stelena, she can't do anything to me. President Balthazar Mortis would have her head if she laid a hand on the precious daughter of his favorite Head Gamemaker of his reign to date. But I still have Stelena to worry about, along with anyone else who is not scared of the president, or claims not to be.

Ms. Terinathy continues her monotonous lecture about the history of Panem and the third Quarter Quell rebellion and Katniss Everdeen - may she rot in hell - and blah blah blah blah blah.

Meanwhile, I stare at the back of Arecelis Jodier's head. I make sure to sit near him in every class. He's easily the hottest guy in this school.

"Arecelis," I whisper.

He doesn't hear me.

I try again, a little louder. "Arecelis!"

He turns around. Ms. Terinathy gives me an evil look but says nothing.

"Yeah?" He rubs his perfect blue eyes, exhausted. Poor Arecelis. He's not wealthy like me and most of the Capitol; he and his siblings have to work all kinds of odd jobs to support the family and their ill mother, while their father wastes away on Morphling and alcohol and who-knows-what-else. Arecelis doesn't get much sleep ever. I would donate some of my endless wealth to him . . . except that it's _mine_. And I don't give away things that rightfully belong to me. Why should I?

I twirl my newly glittered hair and look down for a while, trying to come up with something interesting to say to him, until I feel like I am losing his attention.

"I need you to be the good friend that you always are right now," I whisper to him, laying the urgency in my words on thickly.

"Um . . . okay?"

"No, really." I look away, as if I'm deeply saddened by something. "Really, Arry? Can I call you Arry? Yeah thanks. Stelena's teasing me about my mother failing at being Head Gamemaker and b-b-being k-killed and I just . . . I don't know what to do . . ."

I put my head in my hands, making it look as though I'm crying, and sniffle repeatedly.

Arecelis puts his hand on my arm, and I smile at the touch (of course he does not see this because my face is hidden).

"Hey, it's okay, Mikra." I like the way he says my name. "You have nothing to worry about." He scrambles for something to say. I am so pleased. I've been looking for an excuse to have an entire conversation of this length with Arecelis for a while, but not until now has a situation arisen. I guess I have Stelena to thank for that, as annoying as she is. See? _I _give credit and appreciation where it is due. Unlike dearest Stelena.

"You don't understand," I say theatrically. "Nobody understands."

Arecelis is about to respond, when finally, Terinathy - the witch! - has had enough. "Miss Vode and Mr. Jodier, if you both don't look up and start paying attention to the lesson, there will be serious consequences!"

I scoff. I've had enough with this class. Time for my grand exit.

I stand up. "Yeah, Ms. Terinathy? You think you have a harsh punishment for me? Well unfortunately for you, I have already seen it all. Just this past weekend in fact I had a man show up at my house with _mice_!" Some of my classmates gasp which is good; it builds the dramatic effect.

I storm out of the room without a second glance, much like I did when escaping Stelena. Oh yeah. Stelena. I hope she has something better to do than prowl the halls and wait for me to show up. I roll my eyes at her once again, despite no one being here to see it.

What to do now?

I could run to Caelius right now, but he's a serious student. He would be very upset with me if I interrupted his learning for no reason. And Mifoe is out too, as she's down the block in school with all of the younger kids. And Daddy gave specific instructions to Jaranus, the chauffeur, not to pick any of us up before the school day is over. Daddy is a very smart man. He knows full well that I'd want to leave after, oh I don't know, how long have I been in this place anyway today? It feels like an eternity.

Sighing, I return to my locker and melt to the floor, not even caring about the dust and grime that might be ruining my new white dress.

I see a couple of the rhinestones on the floor, but don't bother to pick them up. Everything is ruined. Why bother trying to fix this one little thing?

Arecelis probably thinks I'm a brat for complaining to everyone about the mice. I only did that for attention, but he might not know that. I'm sure he's seen a lot worse things than mice. I should have been more sensitive in saying that in front of him.

But I have _even _bigger problems than my crush never wanting to speak to me again, if you can imagine that. What if what Stelena says comes true? I mean, she has zero influence in the Capitol, and I'm sure she doesn't have any sources to tell her when a Gamemaker will be fired or executed - nobody would ever care about her or her family enough to tell them anything - but she could have made a lucky guess.

All that stuff that Spyro said the other day . . . - you know, after Caelius and I established that he wasn't trying to rape me - I hope it'll make for a good arena. I really, really hope so. I mean, the Hunger Games is to torture the districts, right? Mice are good for that; I sure did freak out about them. But what about all of that other stuff Spyro said, about traps and cheese and . . . and Mifoe being cuter than me! That last one was just plain offensive, but honestly, do I care what some sleazy exterminator has to say about me and my sister? If I were Mifoe I would probably take that as an insult anyway. Being complimented by an exterminator is like being called gross.

Yep, that description fits my sister.

But getting back to the Games.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I lived in the districts. I like to imagine myself in my mother's arenas, and think about how I would deal with them. One year, the tributes were stranded on a tropical island surrounded by salt water. Half the tropical fruits were okay to eat and half were poisonous, but they all looked the same. The tributes had to figure out how to tell which were edible and which were not.

I remember that arena well. It had been the one hundred and sixth Games. I was eleven, Caelius was thirteen, and Mifoe was nine. Myself, my parents, and Mifoe all thought it was quite hilarious, as we had just been to a tropical island vacation the summer before, and it was hard for us to imagine half of the kiwis, coconuts, pineapples, and mangoes we had enjoyed so much, being used to kill people. We laughed and laughed as the ape mutts pounded away at the tributes, pounding their own chests for good measure, and as sharks popped up and killed some of the children as well. We laughed as the tributes themselves went crazy and killed one another, and we clapped and cheered as District Ten's Relio Audist was proclaimed the Victor. He had been one of my favorites. _Almost _as attractive as Arecelis.

But this year, I don't think I will be laughing at the tributes' pain. They won't be having a tropical island vacation with poisoned fruit, which seemed so hilarious to me four years ago. They won't be plowing their way through a stack of needles and hay like they did two years ago.

They will be surrounded by mice I gather? Or better yet; they might _be _the mice. That would not be funny at all. That would be disturbing to see.

This year's Games will not be funny for me to watch as a girl the same age as some of the tributes. They will be disturbing. And I blame Spyro, Mommy.

Yet, if disturbing is what Balthazar wants, than I will simply turn away for all the disgusting parts and I will close my ears so I won't have to listen to Mifoe shout out in excitement. Because at the end of the day, Stelena cannot be right. Mommy cannot possibly have had her run as Head Gamemaker. I need her to succeed year after year so that she can be there for me and my siblings as we grow up.

Maybe funny is enough for me, but not Balthazar. Maybe he needs her to step up her game.

And when Mommy is told she needs to step up her game, she does exactly that.

And I will follow in her footsteps.

I will step up my game with Arecelis, against Stelena and Ms. Terinathy and in anything else I do.

Because I am Mikra Vode, the daughter of Hebrino and the Great Talitta Vode.

And I am fabulous.

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**Roar by Katy Perry**

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**Woo! All of the tributes are finally in and we have a truly fabulous bunch this year!**

**The blog has been posted! Here is the link (just remove the spaces) I'll also be posting it on my profile soon, but for now, just use this please. **

** mousetrap110hg .blogspot**

**This time, I added something to the blog which I didn't have in Heights. Above each tributes picture is a word that pretty much describes the tribute's essence in a nutshell. Of course, the tributes will change and develop as the story progresses, and they all have more than just this to their personality I guess, but yeah.**

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**Here we got to see a little more of Mikra! Caelius and Mifoe got mentions, but they weren't featured. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and this insight into Mikra's school-life :P**

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**A special shoutout goes to JabberjayHeart, or Corey. He is so kind in allowing me to borrow his SYOT format (and alter it slightly, to make it my own) so thanks so much Corey!**

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**If you have time to review, I would love that! Thank you so much!**

**Aaaaaaannnnnnndddddd now for the questions! There's a lot of them this time.**

_**Did your opinion on Mikra change from the last chapter until this one?**_

_**What did you think of the other Capitolite characters who were introduced here?**_

_**How was my writing in this chapter?**_

_**Your opinions on the tributes just from the blog (going by just names, weaknesses, blog titles (the words on top), pictures, or anything else I'm forgetting here xD)**_

_**Any early favorites from the blog?**_

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**This is the Hunger Games. 23 of your tributes will die, as you know. Character deaths will be based on a number of things some of which include future story arcs and plot lines that I have in mind for the tribute, realism, which tributes I like best, and which the readers and submitters like best, and whether the submitter is reviewing the story. The only reason that this is included is that I think this is fair, because I'd like to keep tributes in the Games longer (if possible) if I know that the submitter is reading the story, and the only way for me to know this is if you review. If not, I have no idea whether or not you're reading the story. You all knew the odds when you submitted a tribute. I'd love it if you stuck around and continued to read the story if/when your tribute perishes, but if not I understand. I'm not trying to be one of those evil, "review or I'll kill your tribute" authors. There are many other factors taken into account, and I really do cherish and appreciate every review I get, I just don't think it's fair if I'm wavering between two tributes to keep in, to kill off one who's creator is reviewing if the other is not or something like that.**

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**And now, without further adieu! Your wonderful tributes :DD A huge thank you to all who submitted! These tributes are truly incredible :D To those who submitted a tribute who did not make it, I really am sorry. I believe this did not happen so often, and I'm pretty sure I already informed everyone, but yeah.**

**District One**

**Male: **Baron Palladine, 18

**Female: **Felise Cassian, 18

**District Two**

**Male: **Merlot Marquise, 16

**Female:** Brielle Embrey, 17

**District Three**

**Male: **Cable Huxley, 16

**Female: **Marceline Sybilet, 16

**District Four**

**Male: **Irvin Conway, 17

**Female: **Vivien Vale, 16

**District Five**

**Male: **Maas Horton, 14

**Female: **Ayra Morse, 16

**District Six**

**Male:** Barend Kruger, 15

**Female: **Daphne Martin, 16

**District Seven**

**Male: **Andros Starbuck, 13

**Female: **Vepar Hecate, 18

**District Eight**

**Male: **Lev Sagathy, 15

**Female: **Delaine Organdy, 18

**District Nine**

**Male: **Duncan Crest, 18

**Female: **Llili Ceres, 17

**District Ten**

**Male: **Gaius Morgan, 18

**Female: **Naida Fynn, 17

**District Eleven**

**Male: **Cristano Lerete, 17

**Female: **Nika Wiley, 17

**District Twelve**

**Male: **Sebastian Brundyn, 17

**Female: **Arryn Vance, 15


	3. The Man Who Can't Be Moved

**Hii! :D Here I am with the reapings: All in one chapter! Here they are told from the Point Of View of a fan of each district who is currently located in the Capitol. I thought this would be a fun way to spice up the reapings and keep them interesting :) But don't worry, we've had enough with the Capitol over these past three chapters I think! You'll be hearing from your marvelous tributes in the very next chapter :D**

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**The Man Who Can't Be Moved**

_I know it makes no sense but what else can I do?_

_How can I move on when I'm still in love with you?_

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**Cordial Detralla, Capitol (Male, 34)**

**District One Fan**

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I'm so proud. So proud.

I have to hold back my tears as I watch with my eyes glued to the screen, all of the Victors of the great district of One march up onto the stage.

I remember being ten-years-old, and watching with delight as Tiara Bright was pronounced the Victor. Sadly, I was not yet born when Ornate and Stellar were proclaimed Victor, but I was right there in spirit (though physically I was confined to my living room) for the more recent victories, including Napoleon Errol just this past year! The excitement over that victory still has not worn off. I remember vividly beaming with pride as Napoleon struck the final blow to the District Two Female, his former ally, procuring his own place as Victor.

I remember how excited I had been to talk about the Games all night long with my wife, Veritta. But she refused. So I kept my thoughts to myself as I recollected that year's Games all night long as I twisted and turned in bed while Veritta complained for me to stop.

Veritta sometimes says that for a man of the Capitol, I talk too much about District One. I get frustrated whenever she brings this up, though. I don't understand why she cannot grasp the beauty and perfection of the first district. They have something truly special about them that even us in the Capitol do not possess. Something that I cannot quite put my finger on, but that draws me towards the district and excites me about it so much.

"Dear," a heavily impregnated Veritta beckons, "would you mind getting me a-"

I cut her off immediately, annoyed at her interrupting the escort just as she is about to begin calling the tributes names! How dare she?

"Veritta please don't! - Not now!"

She grumbles something under her breath, but I am too enlivened by the sight of the escort on the stage to listen to her.

I can't believe they brought Carmen back.

Carmen Sterling used to be the glamorous, eloquent, and much adored escort of One, at least in my opinion. For some reason, after Tiara's victory, Carmen ceased to work as an escort. It was never made clear what happened to her or why she disappeared from the Hunger Games scene. I blame the Capitol. I mean, sure the Capitol is great in the sense that it created the Hunger Games in the first place, but the higher-ups have always held a grudge against the districts, even a district as absolutely amazing as One.

After Carmen left we had Hemanu and then more recently Dimette. Both of them were alright, but, they never matched the absolute brilliance of Carmen.

But last year, Carmen was brought back! And what better way is there to kick off her return to the field than with Napoleon's victory? I find it fitting considering that she first left right after Tiara won.

"Cordial?" Veritta attempts a conversation once again.

"Veritta, please. Either you are going to stop talking or you are going to watch in the kitchen. I cannot have distractions right now. I cannot miss a second of this reaping.

"Ladies first," says Carmen.

I turn on my wife. "You see what you do to me? Now I've missed Carmen's entire introduction!" I feel like crying, but I hold it back. I'm a big boy now.

Carmen pauses for dramatic effect, back on the screen. Come on Carmen, don't leave us in suspense like this! Of course, I'm only kidding myself. I know the reaped name won't be the true tribute in the Games, but a Volunteer will follow shortly. Still, I love hearing the District One names. They're always so pretty sounding. And, plus, the sooner Carmen tells us the name of the reaped tribute, the sooner we can get to the Volunteer.

"Swell Darey!" She calls out, loud and clear in that nice escort voice she possesses. "Do I have a Swell Darey?"

Swell reveals herself, as a small brunette from the sixteen-year-olds section. She scoffs, as if to say, "do you really think I'm coming all the way up there when someone is bound to Volunteer in my place."

And indeed, someone is bound to Volunteer. I am never able to find out who beforehand because the Training Center never releases names nor information on their trainees to the public. It's really a shame. I would read up on all of the potential District One tributes before the reaping if I could.

Before I can even make something of these thoughts, a girl is already up on stage, haven beaten out any other competition, and, evidently, the girl destined to Volunteer as well, based on the look on Stellar's face.

The Volunteer holds up a knife, dribbling with red liquid I presume to be fake blood to scare off any competition. I think it's rather clever of her, but nonetheless the Peacekeepers immediately take the knife from her.

"Felise Cassian," she snarls at the escort.

Hey! No one treats my Carmen that way!

"And now for the boy. We have . . ."

"No need!" announces a tall, muscular blond, fitting the stereotype I love about the beautiful people of District One. "I'm here! Yep, that's me. Baron Palladine, here to Volunteer!"

He runs through the crowd and leaps up onto stage. "No one else bother trying, because Baron's got it covered. You're welcome in advance, District One - for the win!"

"Thank you," I say appreciatively in response. I know he was not officially talking to me as I am not part of District One, but is it really so horrible to want to be included sometimes?

Suddenly, the television screen goes black. I turn to a scowling Veritta, ready to yell at her, having had enough, when I notice her red face and the puddle on the oak wood floor.

At first, I want to scold her for being so careless and spilling a drink . . . then I realize she wasn't holding a drink to begin with.

The baby!

"Cordial Detralla if you know what's good for you you'll get me over to the hospital right this minute!"

I nod without speaking, eyes widened into orbs.

At least I saw District One's reaping; the most important one, but . . . well this kid better turn out good considering that I'm missing seeing the reapings of all of the One tributes' competition for him.

* * *

**Zecriole Palander, Capitol (Male, 73)**

**District Two Fan**

* * *

Some people find happiness with their family. Some with their friends. Some with their career.

Me? My happy place is right here in my own den, watching bloodshed on my television. I always have been fascinated by the sight of blood . . . Maybe that was what scared all of the women away . . . Maybe that's why I never married.

No matter. I can sit on my couch for hours on end, not moving, engrossed in watching recaps of previous years' Hunger Games. I don't need other people; especially not some woman to whom I'll be bound for the rest of my life.

I'm not totally on my own, though, as much as I would like to be. I have my "personal attendant," - whatever that's supposed to mean - Mariella, whom my sister insisted upon hiring, going on and on about "mental instability" and "certifiably insane." I never know what's on that woman's mind. It's really my sister who's the certifiable one, but for once she had a good idea, because Mariella can bring me food and drink while I sit here, so I won't have to get up. It's difficult when you get older to have to get up every five seconds to fetch yourself a sandwich or something. Better to have attendants like Mariella to do it. It's not like being married where you are bound to some person for the rest of your life; more like you just have your own servant to do your bidding.

I wait all year long for this day, these weeks to come, and I can hardly contain myself.

I gave Mariella specific instructions that under no circumstances is she to enter my den unless I shout for her because I want something. Now that I think about it, Mariella will probably wind up in here quite often . . .

District Two's reaping is about to begin. I was rather pleased with District One this year, particularly the girl with that knife. She'll be one to shed a whole lot of blood in the future. My sister - Hadria - says maybe I should stop watching the Hunger Games year after year as they excite me too much and could lead to all kinds of things including a potential heart attack. When she suggested this I had Mariella pick her up and literally throw her out the window. Mariella's stronger than one would expect of a woman so tiny, and she wasn't so happy to treat Hadria so badly but I'm her boss and so she did what I said. The fact that Hadria wound up in the hospital with a broken back was her own fault for suggesting such a horrible thing as to stop watching the Hunger Games.

District Two is my favorite of them all, purely for the reason that the tributes tend to be the most bloodthirsty. They tend to have the most ruthless, vicious killers, which are by far the most fun tributes. Without District Two, the quality of the Games would drop significantly. Then maybe I wouldn't have had to break Hadria's back, but oh well. District Two is worth it.

I watch the escort come out onto stage and pull a slip out of the male reaping bowl to start out. "Jesemer Corote," he says mildly, a blush creeping into his spray tanned cheeks. I chuckle to myself. I can't believe an escort would be so ashamed of himself at calling out a name.

A large boy from the sixteen-year-olds section struts up to the stage. Some others attempt to make it there before him, but to no avail. It's pretty evident that this is the boy the Training Center chose as Volunteer based on the faces of the Victors up on stage behind him. That's odd. Usually they choose eighteen-year-olds, don't they? In all honesty, I don't give a damn about the kid's age as long as he entertains and provides me with the glorious sight of the other tributes' blood.

"Merlot Marquise," the boy says, his head held high.

Marquise huh? That name sounds so familiar. But who can be bothered to try to figure out where I've heard it?

"The girl next," the escort says simply, immediately looking down as the cameras pan from the Marquise boy back over to him.

"Coriandra Merobie." He doesn't seem very excited to be dooming Coriandra to her death, which is a shame. Not that she is going to die anyway, as an onslaught of potential Volunteers is sure to follow.

The camera follows one red haired girl, evidently the one destined to Volunteer.

But the redhead is not the one who makes it onto the stage fast enough. It is another girl. Pretty, I must admit. She's tall with a nice figure, and long blond hair and nice, vibrant turquoise eyes. The first thing she does when she makes it up on stage is wrinkle her nose and dust off some dirt from the escort's jacket. I chortle as he retreats into himself, completely ashamed.

Then she beams brilliantly at the camera and waves to her audience. "My name is Brielle Embrey and I am so honored to be representing District Two in this year's Hunger Games!"

"Honored, eh?" I grumble aloud. "Well let's see how far 'honored' gets you, girlie, shall we?"

"What was that, Mr. Zecriole?" Mariella chirps from the kitchen.

"Nothing of your concern," I rasp, my throat hurting with the effort of speech. "No one asked you, you damn lady."

Meanwhile, the escort wraps up the reaping ceremony awkwardly, whispering to the tributes to shake hands, which they do, Merlot's eyes looking devilishly into Brielle's, who, I must admit, holds her ground in this staring contest of sorts.

"What did you say, Mr. Zecriole?" Mariella now hovers at the living room threshold. She thinks she's clever, doesn't she? - Not technically coming in because I forbade her from doing so unless I called for her.

"I said no one asked you, you damn lady!" I yell. "Now help me up. I need to use the bathroom."

"But Mr. Zecriole, you specifically said earlier that you weren't going to leave the couch tonight until you finished watching your reapings."

"Yeah? Well I'm telling you now to help me up!"

"Yes, Mr. Zecriole."

* * *

**Lyrelia Duette, Capitol (Female, 30)**

**District Three Fan**

* * *

With a beaming smile on my face, - revealing two rows of shining pearly white teeth - I push open the heavy marble door with my leg, my arms being currently occupied by Seff who is pressed firmly against my right hip, and Aleera, clutching tightly to my left hand.

"Pura! Kandra!" I shrill. "So great to see my lovely ladies here!" I walk over to the furry white chairs they have set up for us and release my children momentarily to clutch each of their arms and squeal with delight, pecking each of them on both cheeks.

Pura scoffs. "Hello Lyrelia . . . nice to see you . . . ish. Who are the kids?" she sneers at my darlings and I pull them both closer.

"Oh Pura I am so glad you asked! These are my little darlings Aleera and Seff; ages four and two respectively."

Beaming, I run my fingers through Seff's adorable auburn curls.

"And what exactly are they doing here?" This time it's Kandra who questions.

"I'm so glad you asked! You see, my little darlings and I have always had the tradition to watch the reapings together in this exact formation. - Well, Aleera used to sit right on my lap, but after little Seffy here decided to join the scene, so now we sit like this: Seff sits on my lap with my arms wrapped around him for support, while Aleera curls up next to us and snuggles into my shoulder."

Kandra grimaces. "A little too much information there, don't you think?"

I shrug my shoulders.

Pura stands up and motions towards the door. For a second I think she is kicking me out, but I am relieved to find that she has something else to say. "Well, we have some traditions of our own here in the Hunger Games District Three Fashion Court, as we have dubbed this room. The real stylists - Kaylor and Eladia - hang out in a big room with all of the other district's stylists and have some sort of party during the reapings - or so Kaylor claims, I highly doubt that that's true. Kaylor knows how much Kandra and I love to miss a good party though . . ."

Really? The two of them don't strike me much as party type people.

Kandra cuts in. "Meanwhile, the three of us who are the prep team for the District Three girl, and Polito, Coia, and Thaner, who are the Three boy's prep team, all sit together on these here fluffy chairs. You're new so we don't mind cueing you in as to how things work just this once. But really, you should have read the manuel." She raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry," I mutter, looking down. I really did read the manuel though! Not one word of this reaping-watching-procedure was mentioned.

I forget my embarrassment within a moment and I can feel my face lighting up once more and the excitement to be part of a prep team creeping into my voice once more. "But hey - where are Polito and Coia and . . . I forgot the other one's name - oops. But where are they now?"

The two of them shrug, Pura's orange tinted shoulder raising in unison with Kandra's natural brown one.

Kandra is the one to answer me. "Oh, they'll be here soon. The three of them are really close and they all like to leave together year after year, but Polito always takes so long getting ready and the other two are forced to wait for him."

My eyes widen. "A-are we going to be like that too?" I question in awe. "B-best friends?"

I don't even wait for their response, I yip in excitement. "Best friends! Best friends! Best friends!"

My two future best friends look like they want to say something, but are interrupted with the bursting open of a door.

A tall and skinny man dressed in a shimmering suit and a flamboyant purple polka dot bow tie, stops to adjust his hair for a minute, and then strolls in, waving his hands fanatically. He squeezes Pura and Kandra in two large hugs before moving on to me.

He gasps. "Do we have a newcomer? I just love newcomers! Why hello dear!"

He takes my hand and kisses the back of it, very gentleman-like. "I'm Polito, and it will be a pleasure working with you! Though the difference in our tributes shall do us part, I know for certainty that we will remain true friends." He says all of this with his head and upper body bowed, his voice solemn. Polito remains in this position for a moment before bouncing up, grinning - quite literally - from ear to ear. It's a little alarming at first but I'll be sure to get over it. In fact I think it's rather sweet that he had his mouth enlarged so that he can smile even wider.

Polito skips over to his other friends, both of them shorter and broader than him with piercings running down the lines of their faces.

"And these would be my very best friends in the whole wide world, Coia and Thaner!"

They each nod at me in acknowledgment.

Polito whispers in my ear, "they're brother and sister."

"Oh wow," I say out loud back to him. "That's just perfect! Because, you see, my little darlings Seff and Aleera whom I brought along today are also brother and sister!"

Polito's mouth widens and he quickly moves to wipe a tear from his eye. "Children? In our little Hunger Games District Three Fashion Court? I am simply honored by their adorable presence." He sniffs and blows each of my darlings a kiss.

Pura clears her throat. "Hate to interrupt this, er, interesting encounter, but the reaping is about to start!"

"Eep!" Polito squeals. "My baby district! Oh I just cannot wait to see what joyous little tribute beauties this year brings to us!"

The six of us all settle into our seats, and Aleera and Seff assume their proper positions.

Kandra and Pura apparently had been watching the entire reaping introductions, speeches, and whatnot, but it's alright that I missed that. I would never say it out loud, but that part has always been a little boring to me. In fact, Polito is the only one who looks upset at having missed it.

I recognize Rister the sexist escort immediately. Pura and Kandra cringe at the sight of him, but I don't really mind. Sure, I would mind if, say, my darling Seff was sexist towards my darling Aleera or vice versa, but I don't even know Rister.

You will soon know the tributes though, or at least the girl, I remind myself in delight.

"Let's do the girls and get it over with, okay?" Rister says, pulling out a slip of paper. "And the female doomed to a certain death is . . . Marceline Sybilet! Too bad there's no way you can win this. Oh just look at her," he says, as the aisles part gladly. One girl even pushes Marceline forward. Marceline simply says "woah," and trudges up to the stage.

"She'll never win," Rister scoffs.

Suddenly I feel a pang in my chest, that I never felt before when observing Rister on screen. All of a sudden, his obnoxious sexism bothers me. That's my girl he's doubting! I can't believe him!

But Marceline makes me proud. She grabs the microphone from him and looks at no one when she speaks. "Now that you've said that I think I'll have to win." She shoves the microphone back at her escort and I smile, heart swelling with pride.

"You go girl!" I say. I blush when I realize I just said that out loud, and retreat to continue the stroking of Seff's hair.

Suddenly, a woman looking a lot like Marceline rushes forward. "No! You can't! Not Marceline! Not my baby! Marceline, come down from there this instant!"

But her desperate pleas are no use. Peacekeepers seize her at once and drag her back into the crowd.

Rister rolls his eyes. "Now that you females are done being so horribly dramatic, I think it's time to move on to a tribute that actually has some potential, don't you agree, District Three?" Nobody responds, some people even boo him, but he moves on anyway.

"Come on up . . . Cable Huxley!"

A shaggy haired boy who's blue eyes startle me when the camera pans to them walks up to the stage. He seems a little too . . . casual compared to reaped tributes in past years. Void of emotion, he reaches the stage.

Rister begins to wrap things up. "Well, there you have it, gentlemen and others of District Three. Your tributes, C-"

Cable cuts him off with a blow to the face.

Looking bewildered, Rister massages his cheek on the spot where Cable's fist impacted.

"That was for choosing me, you bastard!" Cable says loudly.

Without even concluding the reaping ceremony, Rister descends the stage staircase, fuming, grumbling about how "all children suck," or something along those lines.

I clutch my own two children tightly to me.

"Two feisty tributes this year, I daresay," Polito winks. "I'm sure Eladia and Kaylor already have some brilliant costumes up their sleeves for these two."

He squeals. "Ooh I simply cannot wait for this year's Games to start!"

* * *

**Tessa Gilded, Capitol (Female, 7)**

**District Four Fan**

* * *

I caress my Aldo Bullard doll in my arms. I was so excited at his victory two years ago! Mama even threw a party to celebrate with me. It's sad that Daddy and Helena and Cariah and Delaney and Margona all don't get so excited about District Four winning like Mama and I do.

Speaking of Mama, she takes my hand that is not holding the Aldo doll and squeezes it tightly.

"Ouch, Mama. You're hurting me," I whine.

"Sorry sweetie," she says hastily. "I'm just so excited to be watching the reapings with my youngest daughter." She ruffles my hair. "It's a shame that no one else in the family gets so excited about the Games like we do, isn't it?"

I beam, at her sparkling blue eyes. "I was just thinking that too!"

Everyone else watches the reaping too, wherever they are on one of the many television screens located in every room of the mansion. They just don't get into it as much as we do that we watch it on the biggest television screen in the entire house; the one hundred and forty eight inch one in the dining room.

"Oh, isn't our Aldo just darling?" Mama smiles.

I nod to her. "Hopefully he gets a new District Four Victor friend!"

Mama laughs. "Hopefully."

Daddy and Helena like to watch upstairs. My three middle siblings are unfortunately pretty indifferent to the Games while me and Mama love them especially District Four. Daddy and Helena also love the Games, but they don't like District Four for some reason, so they have to watch upstairs together, because they can't watch in this special room with me and Mama if they don't like District Four, now can they?

"Tessa, dear? Do you like any of the tributes so far?"

"Oh yes, Mama! I like Baron and Brielle and Marceline. Felise seems mean though, and so do Merlot and Cable." I frown. I do not like mean people.

"Wow, those are brilliant opinions, Tessa! Sometimes I can hardly believe you are only seven. Let me tell you a secret, Tess, when the other kids were seven, they were barely talking without those annoying childish accents. You, my dear, are just wonderful!"

I giggle. Mama is funny when she says I'm better than my big siblings. She only does it sometimes, but don't worry. I love my big brother and all of my big sisters very very much too.

I spot Aldo on my television screen along with all of the other District Four mentors and wave to him eagerly. "Hi Aldo!"

When he doesn't respond I pout. "Mama, why won't Aldo say hi back to me?"

Mama laughs. "Honey, he can't see you right now, even though you can see him."

"Oh yeah," I giggle. "Of course I knew that! I was just being silly."

"I know you know that, Tessa. You know everything. You're the smartest little girl in the whole wide world!"

"Really?" I ask, brimming with excitement. "Really really really? The smartest in the whole wide world? Are you sure?"

"I'm always sure."

I beam and we are both so happy and excited when we continue watching District Four's reaping.

As the escort calls the name of the reaped girl for this year's Games, Mama pulls me into her lap and we exchange an excited look at the prospect of the Volunteers. In the other Career districts - One and Two - the tributes destined to Volunteer are decided beforehand by the Training Centers. Sure, there're always a lot of people who try - and sometimes succeed - to make it up to the stage before the teenager intended to Volunteer, but there's always some sort of system and order and the camera generally follows the person who is intended to Volunteer and they get the most screen time during the race to the stage.

But one of the things I love most about District Four's reapings is that there is no official person set to Volunteer. I can never tell who it is going to be until it happens. It is so chaotic during the race to Volunteer and it is just so fun for me to watch!

This year, the chaos ensues as I predicted with lots and lots of girls tackling each other and fighting their way to the stage. But just like I knew would happen, only one makes it and she tells the escort that her name is Vivien Vale. I think Tessa Gilded is a prettier name than Vivien Vale, but Vivien Vale is kind of pretty too I guess.

Next up is the male. I hope it's another twelve-year-old like Aldo was two years ago when he won. They don't have such a great chance against the older tributes, but sometimes they do win like Aldo did, and they are just so fun to watch!

"Moridel Hellina!" The escort says. I realize with a gasp that Moridel's last name is a little bit similar to my biggest sister Helena's first name!

Moridel comes out from the fourteen-year-olds section. It's not twelve but it'll do. I realize with a gasp that Aldo won the Games two years ago when he was twelve which makes him fourteen right now too! I wonder if Moridel and Aldo know each other already. Maybe they're best friends!

I wish Moridel could go into the Games, but I know that there will be Volunteers. The one who makes it up to the stage is a tall, short-haired seventeen-year-old.

He walks with poise and does not smile back at Vivien when she smiles at him. "Greetings District Four," he says in a serious tone. "My name is Irvin Conway your male tribute as of this year."

The escort cheers for him but he does not acknowledge her. I turn to look at Mama. "I like Vivien best."

"Me too," she agrees with a smile and we hug. I just love watching the District Four reaping together with my Mama.

* * *

**Hasser Lizino, Capitol (Male, 13)**

**District Five Fan**

* * *

"Hasser, have you finished all of your homework?" Mother asks as she and Father barge into my room unannounced.

I roll my eyes. "For the last time, Mother, we don't get homework over the reapings."

"Hasser, do you have any more information on the arena?" Father asks eagerly, leaning into the door.

"No, Father, how could I possibly have any more information on that front? The last time I've seen Mifoe Vode was in school the other day and I've already relayed to you everything she told me about her mother's newest arena," I say slowly, growing more and more frustrated with my parents by the second.

"Hasser, would you like something to eat or drink?" Mother offers kindly.

I scowl at her. Honestly, parents have to be the most annoying invention in history.

"No, Mother, I would most certainly not," I say firmly. "Now, if you two wouldn't mind, please get out of here this instant."

Father throws his hands up in surrender. "Oopsie daisy. Sorry son. We had no idea we annoyed you so much."

Mother giggles and the two of them leave me to watch the reapings in peace. I slam the door loudly as soon as they step out.

Good thing I didn't miss District Five's reaping. Or else Mother and Father really would have been in for it. Five is my favorite district and the one I root for each year. Why do I do it? My parents and all of my friends favor the Careers. Did it ever hurt anyone to be a little different?

Mother and Father have been popping in every other minute to check up on me. I guess that's what I get for being the only child of two overprotective, smothering parents. It could do them a lot of good to calm down a bit.

I watch as the Treaty of Treason is recited, along with all of those other formalities, eager to get to the tributes already.

Finally, the escort announces that she is about to choose the District Five Male and her dainty, gloved hand reaches towards the male bowl.

She reads the name to herself and grins contemptuously at the people of District Five. "Ladies and gentlemen, the male representing District Five in this year's Hunger Games will be . . ."

"Get on with it, lady!" I grumble.

"Maas Horton!" She announces smugly.

A boy emerges from the fourteen-year-olds section. For a moment, he just stands there, frozen. It only takes him a second, however, to regain his composure and strut proudly up to the stage.

"Why, hello there," he greets the escort kindly, outstretching his hand which she shakes, albeit appearing to be grossed out by the mere sight of the young boy's hand. "Nice to meet you," Maas continues.

"Very well," she grimaces. "And now for the female."

"Hanni Drame!" she announces.

Hanni is revealed to be a tiny little girl aged thirteen, the same as me. I'm not a tiny little kid like she is though.

Tears stream down the young girl's face and her legs wobble as she begins the slow march to her death. A thirteen and a fourteen-year-old eh? I know I'm thirteen myself, but even I have to admit that District Five doesn't appear too promising this year, which is a shame.

All of a sudden, something very strange happens. Very strange indeed.

The words "I Volunteer," come out of nowhere. Their speaker sounds angry, and she is revealed to be an auburn haired sixteen-year-old. Her enraged face had been redder than her hair for a moment, but as she walks up the stairs, her head ducked below her chin, it recedes back to it's original color.

At this, the escort perks up. "Wow, that was positively lovely my dear girl!" She sounds far more enthusiastic about meeting this girl than she did about Maas. "And what is your name?"

The girl makes eye contact with the escort for the briefest instant before looking away again. "My name is Ayra," she says blankly.

"Why what a lovely name that is - Ayra! And do you have a last name?"

"Morse," she says shortly.

"Once again, lovely. Lovely indeed. Well, there you have it District Five: Your tributes in the one hundred and tenth Hunger Games will be the lovely Ayra Morse! And . . . and . . . what was your name again, kid?"

"Maas Horton," he informs her, unfazed by her clear favoritism of Ayra.

"Right," she replies. "Ayra Morse and Maas Horton!"

As if on cue, I hear a loud knocking on my door, just as the sound of a train engine starting in the background clues me in to the start of District Six's reaping.

"What do you two want now?" I demand of Mother and Father, throwing the door open for them.

"We just wanted to discuss our favorite little boy's favorite district's reaping," Mother coos softly.

"Out!" I scream. Thankfully, they take the hint for once in their lives and scramble. I return to watching the reapings.

Sometimes I wonder if kids who are not only children find their parents so incredibly annoying. From what I've seen they don't. My friend Mifoe Vode, for example, has two older siblings and she just adores her parents. And then there is my friend Harlice Bardell who is one of eight kids! He thinks his parents don't have enough time and attention for him, whereas mine certainly have too much.

Then again, if my parents were actually cool like Mifoe's Head Gamemaker mother or Harlice's entrepreneur father, I might actually want to hang out with them rather than view them as one of the biggest nuisances in my life.

* * *

**Xerio Fleary, Capitol (Male, 51)**

**District Six Fan**

* * *

I hum merrily to myself as I wait patiently for the pasta to finish cooking. Oh what a glorious day it is! I believe that reaping day is enough to put any Capitol man in a good mood, which I most certainly am!

Just one week ago, my family and I commemorated the seventh anniversary of the early death of my wife, Daybelle. We all miss her terribly, but the great thing is man's ability to move on with life and be happy on days such as this marvelous one!

Plus, the new addition of another new Fleary, the little girl born to my son and daughter-in-law just two short months ago definitely adds to the joy in my heart. Her name is Daybelle after my lovely deceased wife. That naming made my heart positively swell with love and pride for my children and our entire family.

When the pasta is ready I bring it with me to the table where I sit and wait patiently for District Six's reaping to begin, District Five's having just concluded.

Six has always been a favorite district of mine. Mostly because of the Victors. All three of the Victors District Six has brought home since Balthazar Mortis's rise to power (i.e., the ones permitted to mentor the tributes) remind me of my own children. They're even in the correct order.

Deritan, my eldest, is sadly my broken child. The death of his mother was not something the poor boy took lightly. I won't go into further specifics as I don't want to be saddened on such an inherently happy day. But Deritan reminds me a lot of Glass Wheeler, the Victor from District Six, who also went through something traumatic - the Games - and came out much more broken than the other two.

Deritan is little Daybelle's father, and I only hope and plead that his sweet little daughter can bring to my son the joy sucked out of him at the death of her namesake; Deritan's mother with whom he had been so close.

Next comes Diana, my sweetheart. She's similar to the sweetest of the three Victors, Halette Scotland. Unlike her older brother, Diana is not married. Good. I don't need my baby-girl going off and getting attached to another man so quickly . . . I mean, I know she's already twenty-four, but it is so hard to see my children all growing up, particularly my sweet Diana.

And last but not least is Heyan, my third child. My jokester and prankster. The one about whom I always got calls from school as he was growing up, to say that my son has earned himself detention yet again. Heyan's much younger than his two siblings at only eighteen, and was only eleven at Daybelle's passing, yet Heyan was not the one to crack - Deritan was.

Heyan is like a beacon of light in the tunnel. Similarly, when Litoy Vey (another jokester and prankster) took home the crown of victory a few years ago, it was like a beacon of light and hope for Glass and Halette. They realized that after all those years of it being just the two of them, they had finally brought home another Victor. And they regained the hope that they could do it once again.

Perhaps that hope will be turned into a reality with this year's batch of tributes.

"Daphne Martin!" The escort calls out from my television screen, kicking off the reaping with the female. "Come on up to the stage, Daphne, wherever you are!"

Daphne emerges from the crowd of sixteen-year-olds surrounding her.

She is revealed to be a round faced girl with dark brown hair, making her way to the stage ever so slowly, a look of shock and fear evident upon her face.

Not looking down, the poor girl trips over her own two feet, falling to the ground and has to be helped up by the peacekeepers. I can tell that Halette is feeling sympathetic towards Daphne as well without even seeing her, because I know that that's how my Diana would feel. I think I'll be sponsoring this girl. She looks as though she'll need it.

Or maybe not.

After being helped up by the Peacekeepers, Daphne continues to walk with confidence. When she reaches the stage she turns to the escort. "Please, call me Daff."

"Why hello there, Daff."

Daphne - er, Daff - grins, pleased with herself.

Now it's the male's turn.

"Barend Kruger!"

The crowd of fifteen-year-olds parts revealing a tall blond boy, his lips slightly parted in an exclamation of shock.

Barend simply stands there, unable to move, and peacekeepers are forced to grab him by one arm each and carry him up to the stage. He seems to finally snap out of his trance when the peacekeepers deposit him on the stage and he murmurs a quick thank you.

Correction, Daff should be fine. Barend - the poor child - looks like the type who will need a sponsor like myself.

* * *

**Orval Paquesse, Capitol (Male, 17)**

**District Seven Fan**

* * *

I walk into the bar and allow the sound of the loud, blaring music flood through my veins.

I sit down at a barstool and breathe a heavy sigh.

"Hit me up with the strongest thing you've got," I tell the bartender.

He looks me up and down, skeptical. "You kidding me? How old are you, kid?"

"Look," I spit with a grimace. "I'm having a rough day. You can question my legality any day, just not today?" I beg of him. "I really need a drink right now."

He narrows his eyes at me for a moment, but eventually he shrugs his shoulders and busies himself with preparing that drink for me.

"You okay, kid?" He asks, slamming down the shot-glass containing the pale liquid in front of me.

"Just peachy," I scowl, downing the drink with a smack of my lips.

If peachy is what you call your girlfriend breaking up with you, you're parents practically saying straight out they wish you were Caelius Vode and the President of Panem giving you a "stern talking to" for "bullying" Caelius Vode - all in one week, then yes, I'm doing just peachy.

Needless to say, the meeting with the president was pretty scary.

Needless to say, Caelius Vode and I don't get along very well.

He thinks that just because he's top of the class and his mother is the Head Gamemaker that he's better than me and everyone else. Yet, despite all that, along with his general horridness and geekiness, he still has crowds of girls fawning over him, and crowds of boys wishing they were him.

He makes me so mad.

I slam the empty shot-glass down on the table, puncturing the glass.

Blushing, I sweep it aside with my hand. Thankfully, it doesn't cut through my skin, but I quickly leave a couple of bucks on the counter and retreat to the back room where lots of useless bums like me like to sit around and bet on the tributes.

District Seven's reaping is on as I enter the room. It's the only district I ever bother to watch the reaping of. I always root for them. The tributes tend to be nice people and not bloodthirsty careers, but still tough and not crying every five seconds. Because, really, you can't get anywhere just by crying.

It's mostly filled with people a lot older than me, but that doesn't faze me. I don't like most kids my age anyway.

The male escort bounces around the stage, the slip with this year's District Seven Female's name in hand. Finally, he settles on a spot that he feels comfortable in and opens up the slip, announcing the name to the whole district and all of the cameras around him.

"Will a Miss Vepar Hecate please come on down?"

Vepar is one of those tributes who refuses to move when her name is called. For a few moments, she is shielded by everyone around her, but alas, they betray her eventually, stepping aside to make way for her to walk through and she is exposed for the world to see.

She looks from side to side, but her legs remain unmoving. Finally, the escort grows impatient and sends for peacekeepers to collect Vepar and escort her up to the stage.

The escort - Hamlen, I believe his name is - grows jittery with all of the waiting for Vepar, and seems to be quite anxious to call up the next tribute.

"Andros Starbuck!"

After Vepar, the peacekeepers don't wait for the boy, but they rush straight in to the crowd of parting thirteen-year-olds in pursuit of Andros.

They pull him out from the group. The kid is screaming his heart out at being reaped, silvery tears gleaming down his cheeks.

Hamlen is so pleased to have been met with Andros instantly that he totally ignores the young boy's screams and desperate cries.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District Seven," he beams. "I give you your tributes - Vepar Hecate and Andros Starbuck!"

"Neither," the middle-aged man next to me scoffs. "Definitely not the little boy nor the girl who can't seem to move on her own. I still have my money on the District One girl." He turns to look at me. "How bout you, kid? What do you think?"

I shake my head, suddenly not in the mood to place bets on the tributes. "I . . . I don't . . ." Palms clammy with sweat I rise from the table without excusing myself. Little kids like Andros being reaped always makes me feel uncomfortable. Then again, meetings with President Balthazar also make a me pretty uncomfortable, as does my own parents wishing I was another kid who I happen to hate with a passion, as does my girlfriend breaking up with me.

But no one would ever think to pity a rebellious Capitol teenager like me.

So should I really be expected to pity the teenagers from the districts for their problems of being reaped?

* * *

**Faffany Matria, Capitol (Female, 46)**

**District Eight Fan**

* * *

"Look what you've done, Saberin! You've made a mess of your food all over my brand new carpet!"

Saberin whimpers and I melt at the sight. "No, it's alright, honey. You're still a baby; you didn't know. But all of your brothers and sisters know very well not to get their food all over Mommy's brand new carpet, and you need to learn that as well."

I smile encouragingly and pick him up, cradling him in my arms and hugging him to my chest.

I love my kitties.

All twenty-nine of my cats - including the ones who sadly are no longer with us, whom we all miss terribly - receive lots of love and affection and attention from me, and I am proud to call them my own and love them so dearly as if I was their mother.

I just purchased Saberin recently and he's still learning the rules of the household.

Zelle walks over and begins licking my bare leg. I place Saberin back down on the ground and pick up Zelle instead. As I stroke her soft gray fur, I am reminded of something I wish I could keep at the back of my memory for as long as I live.

I bought Zelle after a particularly harsh breakup.

Yes, that's right. Each and every one of my twenty-nine beautiful kittens I purchased as a consolation after each of my boyfriends broke up with me since the age of sixteen.

I remember one boy I dated, Zerintine, was allergic to cats. He refused to enter my home because I already had six or seven of them back then. When he told me that it wasn't working out between us, I got so upset that I went to the pet store and bought my dear honeypie Schea, and, with her tucked under my arm, I barged straight into his house, hoping to catch him off guard and teach him a lesson about messing with Faffany Matria. Unfortunately, no one was home, and I got into serious legal trouble for breaking and entering into his property.

But that's a story for another day.

Actually, Schea just died about three years ago, I believe it was. Malray Ritz was supposed to be comforting me as I took her death quite harsh. I thought the relationship was going beautifully. I though Malray and I truly had something special. Little did I know, he had been planning on crushing my heart the entire time.

Malray did the unspeakable: He told me he'd meet me at the fashion show that he bought us tickets for, and then not only did he stand me up, he sent some stupid friend to tell me that things weren't working out between us! The jerk did not even have the common decency to dump me himself in person. And he knew how fragile and emotionally unstable I was after going through the trauma of Schea's death . . .

But anyway, that's when Zelle joined the Matria family. After Malray shattered my heart into a thousand million pieces.

Zelle Matria. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? I always thought so.

"Between you and me, my Little-Baby-Zelly-Mushy-Kins, I love you much more than I ever loved Malray," I say into her fur, in between strokes.

"Oh look everybody, District Eight is up!" I clap my hands together in excitement. I'm pretty sure Zelle's beautiful yellow eyes light up in excitement as well.

All of us have been watching the reapings today, starting from District One. They were all good, but I can't say I've ever been so interested in the most of the districts. The thought of the Hunger Games in general has always grossed me out.

But personally I've always been quite partial towards District Eight.

I mean, what Capitol girl wouldn't be? That's where the majority of our gorgeous fashions are created, including this white mink jacket I'm wearing today - faux of course, I would never hurt a precious animal remotely similar to my little baby kitties.

"Quiet down, my dearie," I say softly to Starley, who has been purring. "It's District Eight's turn, finally! Our favorite district!"

Starley is the oldest of my dear cats who is still alive and he has always been a rather loud little fellow.

Merica Dawn introduces the District Eight reaping and I cringe on the inside. I know that girl. Her mother and I went to school together, and let's just say we were not fans of each other. The fact that Merica is escorting such a district as Eight who is so kind to us Capitolites as to create for us beautiful garments to wear puts a sick feeling in my stomach. They deserve better than her. I've never met Merica, so technically I'm not one to judge, but if the expression of her face - identical to the one her mother always used to wear - is any indicator, then two poor District Eight teenagers will not be in for a treat when it comes to their escort.

Merica kicks off the reaping by sticking her hand deep into the male bowl and shuffling a few slips around a bit before pulling out the name she chooses.

"Lev Sagathy," she enunciates clearly.

If I were the escort, instead of Erilla's (that is, my former classmate's) daughter, I certainly would express a little more enthusiasm when choosing the tributes for the Hunger Games.

"I would make such a better escort wouldn't I, honeypie?" I whisper to Zelle.

I take her silence for a yes.

"Oh, Zelle. You are so sweet! You flatter me."

Meanwhile, on screen, the camera has focused in on one copper skinned young boy, who is evidently Lev Sagathy. He flails around in circles, as if he is drowning, shouting for someone to save him.

Two Peacekeepers run to collect the boy, looking mildly amused themselves. They each grab one arm and hoist the boy up.

To my horror, Lev leans over to the Peacekeeper on his right and bites the man's shoulder.

It reminds me of one of my boyfriends, Harinus, who would bite into food so viciously it would make me sick. I was rather pleased when he broke up with me, actually, so there was no crying involved there, - nor was there any sitting on the couch eating ice cream with the cats. I still thought it would be fitting, though, to buy myself another cat and so I did - A bright orange Tabby called Tyllie.

The Peacekeeper gives him a slap on the cheek, and from then on Lev remains quiet and unmoving until the two Peacekeepers deposit him next to that horrid Merica up on stage.

Merica says nothing to the boy, and simply moves on to the female tribute.

"Delaine Organdy."

I have a few dresses made from organdy. Come to think of it, for Tyllie's third birthday I believe I bought her a dress made from organdy as well. Oh dear! I should have worn an organdy dress of mine on that occasion as well. Tyllie and I could have been matching!

Oh well. Too late now.

Delaine also seems to realize that it is too late for something - too late to reverse her reaping now. She walks briskly toward Merica (the wretched hag) and Lev, but - the poor dear! - on her way up the stairs Delaine slips and falls down, landing on her face.

Her features are turned bright red and she purses her lips in an obvious attempt not to express too much emotion, but I can see the glares she gives the floor as she continues to walk up the stage as well as the way her head hangs in shame.

Not waiting for Merica to tell her to do so, Delaine grabs Lev's hand and shakes it once forcefully, refusing to lock eyes with her district partner, escort, or anyone else as Merica angrily finishes up the reaping, the whole time scowling at Delaine for stealing some tiny piece of the woman's spotlight.

She's a wretched hag, just like I thought.

"My oh my, District Nine's up already!" I tell the kittens. "Now babies, you all know the rules: Once we get through Twelve, it's straight to the baths for you all. The baths will take us a few hours, and then it's off to bed, my dearies!"

Zelle's eyes light up once more and I give the sweet kitten a little kiss.

Starley purrs and I blow him a kiss as well.

Who needs men?

I have my darling kittens to take care of, which I much prefer!

* * *

**Jewell Blancore, Capitol (Female, 16)**

**District Nine Fan**

* * *

Sanser twirls and glides me across the rehearsal dance floor and I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat and match the beam on his face.

Yet I can't help but imagine it being not him but Yana holding me so delicately and moving with me so gracefully. I know it's wrong to think that way: Yana is straight. She may be my best friend, but that's as far as the relationship will ever in a million years go. And besides, it's not like Sanser thinks there's anything going on between the two of us; he's merely my dance partner. But still, the feeling of joy I get from moving my feet ever so elegantly in synch with his is something that I feel is special. And something that I feel should be shared with someone special as well. I mean, Sanser's a nice enough guy but - as horrible as it is to say - he's really nothing special to me, despite us having been dance partners since I was only eleven.

Coach blows her whistle. "Marvelous job children!" Sanser beams and I grin as well. "Rest up; I will see you both at the performance tomorrow night."

"Thanks, Coach," I say. I grab my dance bag from against the wall, as does Sanser.

"Coach is right, Jewell. You are a really marvelous dancer." He leans against the wooden bar along the wall.

"Uh, thanks. You too."

I awkwardly hi-five him, and with that I turn around and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of Yana waiting patiently for me outside the studio. I love it when she comes to pick me up from dance practice. It's so sweet of her.

When I open the door, she claps eagerly for me. "Oh Jewell, you are the most beautiful dancer I've ever seen!"

"Thanks, Yana." I give her a friendly hug, and she releases me from it far too soon.

"You and Sanser are going to do great tomorrow night!" She exclaims in delight.

My smile falters but I nod. "Yep. Yeah. That's right. Me and Sanser. Partners. We'll do great. Together. Just the two of us."

"Is something wrong, Jewell?" Yana frowns

"Oh nothing. I'm just . . . just nervous is all."

Yana raises an eyebrow at me but does not press the issue any further.

Side by side the two of us begin to exit the building. As we pass the desk of Harriet, the receptionist, I catch a glimpse of the reapings for the Hunger Games being broadcasted on the television screen directly above Harriet's head.

Yana does not stop to watch, and I'm about to continue walking along with her, when I notice that District Nine is currently the district being reaped.

I catch her arm. "Hey Yana?"

"Hm?"

"Let's hang around here for a bit. Harriet, you wouldn't mind if we stuck around for a bit and watched the reapings?"

Harriet shrugs. "Go right ahead, girls."

"What do you say, Yana?"

"Um, sure, I guess. You know, I always thought you sorta hated the Games, and I'm not such a big fan myself . . . but if you want to . . ."

She's right. I do despise the Hunger Games. But there's something about District Nine that truly appeals to me. Or more specifically, something about a certain Victor of theirs that appeals to me tremendously.

Ryta Craydoll.

She inspires me. The way she's so open about her attraction to women makes me feel good on the inside. It gives me hope that maybe someday I'll be able to come out of the closet about my own being lesbian as well. Perhaps someday I'll be able to tell Yana how I truly feel about her, despite my knowing that she will never feel the same way about me. That day is not today, but maybe if I keep learning from great role models like Ryta . . . maybe that day will come soon.

District Nine's relatively new escort, a dumpy little man who only got into the business about four or five years ago, raises his hand to choose the name of the female tribute. I glance at Yana for a second and find that she is not watching the reaping, but playing with the fringes on her new shirt. I keep my eyes glued on Ryta, sitting up there on stage, throughout the reaping. She is the reason I'm watching it after all.

"Llili Ceres!" says the escort, his voice thick and raspy.

I watch Ryta's eyes pop open, along with those of Wheaten seated to her left, as a beautiful blond reveals herself.

Head hanging low, Llili ascends the stage and glares straight through the poor escort with eyes so furious I'm almost surprised they don't burn a hole straight through him.

The escort trembles a little, and nervously resumes the reaping with the male tribute.

"Duncan Crest!"

Like Llili, Duncan emerges from the crowd right away. I can tell that he is trying hard to conceal the emotions, yet his face outwardly grows red with frustration and dread.

This is why if not for Ryta, I would not watch the Games at all. It's so horrible to think that the place I live in, the place I love so much, would do such horrible things to children similar to myself.

"I've had enough," I say to Yana. "You're right, I hate the Hunger Games."

I grab her arm and we continue our walk in unison.

Over my shoulder I call a cry of thanks to Harriet and then Yana and I are off to spend the day together. Just two best friends spending some quality time together. Because that's all Yana and I will ever be. Best friends. Nothing more. But, I'm grateful that at least it is nothing less.

* * *

**Torytal Darlier, Capitol (Male, 23)**

**District Ten Fan**

* * *

It's already been five whole years, and yet, with each passing day it gets harder and harder rather than easier, like you might think.

What gets harder and harder each day? Everything.

Living as an Avox. Serving people I despise so much. Living so far away from my home in District Ten.

But most of all, living away from my family. Going through each and every day with the knowledge that my sister is gone forever and ever and there is nothing I can do about it.

And I blame the very person that I work for.

Just thinking about the day Aiselle was reaped causes me to shake so violently, I almost drop the tray of delicacies I was ordered to bring in for the Vodes.

I set the silver tray down on the coffee table near which the family of four is sitting, engrossed in watching the reapings. Talitta herself is off watching with the President or other Gamemakers or some other important people.

Mikra, the middle child, takes one look at one of the little pastry cakes made special by the chef for this occasion and lets out a shrill, ear-piercing shriek.

"What's the matter dear?" Her father puts an arm around her.

"I cannot believe they would serve us pumpkin! Can you believe it, Daddy? I can't believe it!"

"What's wrong with pumpkin, pumpkin? See what I did there?" Her father chortles at his own joke, and the youngest of the three children, Mifoe, laughs along with him.

"Daddy!" Mikra protests. "We all know quite well that I am highly allergic to pumpkin and to be kept away from it at all times! Why the chef would be so idiotic as to cook with something I am allergic to is beyond me . . ."

Her older brother snorts. "Don't be such a drama queen, Mikra. You're not allergic to anything."

"I'm allergic to pumpkin! Pumpkin is something, isn't it? Trust me, Caelius. I'm the first one to wish pumpkin wasn't something . . . But it is!"

Caelius rolls his eyes at her.

Their father calls for my attention. "Um, sir?"

Well that's new. Technically, I've never been spoken to directly by Hebrino Vode as there are people much above me in the hierarchy of the Vodes' workers, but never in a million years would I expect him to address me as "sir."

I bow, just as I was taught to do.

"Would you mind bringing this cake back to the kitchen?" He has some sort of nasal condition, but his voice does sound rather kind when he speaks. "My daughter's allergic you see . . ."

I nod, bowing once more and collect the plate with the pumpkin cake on it.

As I reenter the kitchen to find something else to bring out to them instead of the pumpkin cake, I remember that Aiselle always loved pumpkin flavored foods.

My poor little Aiselle. All I ever wanted to do was protect her. Yet, somehow, she wound up killed, and I wound up an Avox. Our parents lost both of their children within the span of a few days.

I remember that fateful day; the one on which she was reaped. The day on which my entire world came crashing down upon me and I was buried underneath the rubble, unable to escape the many horrors that became my life from that point forward.

She had been sixteen at the time. But she was so helplessly naive. So young for sixteen. I myself was eighteen. In age, I was only two years older than her. But in reality, I was her far more mature, older brother in so many ways. Her entire life all I ever wanted to do was protect her, to make sure she was okay. To make sure that no matter what, my little sister never got hurt and could have a good, fun, enjoyable childhood which most children in the outer districts would have envied.

I was always the one to take out tesserae rather than Aiselle when needed. I was the one who was pulled out of school at a young age to help raise up the cattle to ensure that our family had enough money to survive, and occasionally even to spend on luxuries for Aiselle . . . like pumpkins.

But then the escort called her name. And I could not save her. I tried. I really did.

The second her name was called, I sprang into action, leaping over the other children to grab my sister. I tried running away with her in my arms. Needless to say, we didn't make it very far before we were caught by Peacekeepers. And even afterwards, I tried again.

My parents and I said our teary goodbyes to our lovely Aiselle in the Justice Building. Mom and Dad left.

They warned me over and over to come with them, but I stood my ground. I told them firmly that I was eighteen-years-old, and old enough to make my own decisions.

If I was old enough not to go to school so that we could keep food on the table, then I was old enough to care enough about my sister to try anything to save her from the Games. Mom and Dad could not argue with that point, and they knew that there was no point in doing so. I was not going to be swayed.

Because Aiselle of all people, truly needed saving. She was marked off as a Bloodbath the moment she was reaped.

I hid behind a couch in the Justice Building. When Peacekeepers came to get Aiselle and drag her onto the train, I crept behind them. I wanted to follow her onto the train. I didn't know what I would do from there, but I was acting on impulse; trying anything to help her out.

The caught me within five seconds. In all honesty, they probably discovered my presence within the first three seconds, and were simply humoring me in allowing myself five minutes to believe that the plan might actually work.

I was sent to the Capitol.

My tongue was ripped out.

People who are not reaped, are not supposed to try to follow their sisters into the Games. I learned that the hard way.

Until Aiselle's death, I was not given a job. I just sat in the very lab where they ripped out my tongue. Every once in a while, they gave me something to eat.

And I watched. I watched Aiselle and her allies as they entered the arena. She was with another silly, happy, naive, sixteen-year-old girl from District Twelve - Parla, along with Parla's timid, twelve-year-old district partner - Hiand.

All three of them were slain in the Bloodbath.

My dear, beautiful, cheerful, wonderful sister Aiselle placed twenty-fourth.

And that's when they sent me here to the Vode house.

My job is to clean the kitchen when the Head Chef, Sy, and his team are finished cooking.

It must be spotless. Or else. That is a quote from Balthazar Mortis.

Frankly, I don't find cleaning the kitchen all that difficult. There are only five people in the Vode family, so Sy does not make such a mess cooking anyway.

But that's the point. The cleaning is not supposed to be the real torture for me.

The real torture is the knowledge that I am serving the house and family of Talitta Vode, the woman who orchestrated the death of my beloved sister five years ago. And there is nothing I can do about it if I value my life.

There was nothing I could do to help Aiselle at the time, and still now, I can't do anything for her but think of her as I scrub counters and stoves.

"You okay, Torytal?" Pia - Sy's second-in-command - questions, shoving another platter of cakes in my hand.

I nod, sniffing and wiping a tear from my eye.

"I think these will go over better with the Vodes. Sorry about that last pumpkin one. We knew Mikra didn't like it, I don't know how we could possibly have forgotten something like that!"

Sy and Pia like me for some reason. Probably they just feel bad for me. I guess giving me the job of bringing the desserts out to the Vodes is supposed to make me feel good or something.

Hip hip hooray. Well, at least it could be worse . . . Talitta could be here.

I hold up the new tray and set it down in front of Mikra and the others.

Mikra breathes a sigh of relief. "Good thing there's no pumpkin this time around. I am so horribly allergic to that stuff!"

Caelius snorts once again.

District Nine's reaping is just finishing up at this point, which means that Ten is about to begin.

Ten. The district I grew up in.

Ten. The district in which Aiselle and I had such a fun childhood together despite my being forced into work at such an early age.

Ten. The district where my parents are right now. I bet they're thinking of Aiselle and I today. They probably do every reaping day.

The guilt floods in about trying to pull that stunt at the Justice Building, when I knew it would never work. Because of that stunt, my parents have no more children at home to call their own.

I'm supposed to return to the kitchen, but neither Hebrino nor any of the kids specifically tells me to do so now, so I use that as an excuse to back up into the rear wall of the extravagant living room and watch District Ten's reaping along with them, my back pressed up against the detailed gold and violet wallpaper design.

I've always been rooting for District Ten. Ever since Aiselle couldn't make it out alive, I've been cheering on my own district even more than I did back home.

And only one year after Aiselle's death, District Ten did bring home a Victor in Relio Audist. That made me happy. But it didn't bring my sister back, and it didn't restore my speech.

"Naida Fynn!" is called as this year's female tribute.

All eyes turn to one girl, whose blue eyes widen for a second.

Soon, though, she begins to walk, face void of emotion, towards the stage. I note her lack of emotion displayed as well as her perfect posture as she takes even step after even step towards the stage.

"Gaius Morgan!" is called out as her district partner.

Again, all eyes turn to the one boy.

He pulls a lollipop out of his pocket, rips off the rapper, and shoves it in his mouth.

I watch the lollipop swish back and forth from within his mouth as he casually walks up the stage.

The girl looks like she can do something for the district. I'm not so sure about the boy with the lollipop, but the girl . . . she has potential.

In fact, from just this first impression, she sort of reminds me of Crinda Doan, the girl who won the Games Aiselle's year.

On second thought, maybe I don't like Naida so much, regardless of whether she might bring a District Ten victory.

Crinda Doan is not exactly my favorite person, as one might imagine.

* * *

**Aloetta Jamer, Capitol (Female, 8)**

**District Eleven Fan**

* * *

Mother will be home very, very soon.

That's what Father tells me every time I ask where she is and why she is not here.

She is not home anymore because she is working very hard being an escort for the Hunger Games. She will be home very, very soon, just like Father tells me.

Armando and Noe don't know what they're talking about when they say she's not coming back.

Father says that they're just being bad siblings and trying to tease me.

But I really wonder why he always gets so mad at me every time I mention Mother. All I want is for her to come home to me, but for some reason, Father gets annoyed. He yells at me each time that I'm being impatient and that she'll be home soon enough.

Every time I want to ask him what "soon" means in this case, but after his original outburst I am too scared.

And then of course there is Armando and Noe, who like to tell me that Mother "had an affair" and that she's "not coming back. Ever."

I don't know what an affair is, but it doesn't sound too good.

How dare they talk about our mother that way? Father seems to agree with this, because whenever either one of them brings those points up, he gets even madder at them than he did at me a few minutes earlier.

It feels like forever since I've seen Mother. She's only been gone doing her important escort work a few months, but when you're eight-years-old that feels like a lifetime.

And also, there's a wonder in the back of my mind: Hasn't Mother been District Eleven's escort for years and years now. Since before I was even born? Why all of a sudden does the job require so much time and effort on her part?

I yip with excitement as I watch Mother strut up and down District Eleven's stage, all of my worries and doubts pushed away. I grasp Father's arm. "Father! Th-that's her! That's Mother!"

Father removes his arm and shifts over on the couch. I notice that while I was thinking about Mother, Armando and Noe disappeared somewhere. I wonder where they could have gone and why they left. Shouldn't they be as excited as I am to see their mother for the first time in months?

Unless it's all this affair business again.

Father feels around for the remote and presses a button. The screen instantly turns to black.

I gasp. "Father! Don't you want to see Mother doing what she does best?" I can feel my eyes filling with salty tears, threatening to spill. "W-we haven't s-seen her in s-s-so l-long a-and . . ." I trail off and Father sighs, turning the television back on, but he looks away.

He must just miss Mother as much as I do and not want to have to watch her right now. Yes, that must be it.

Mother is now preparing to call out the female tribute's name for this year's Hunger Games like she does every year.

She clears her throat and offers a wide smile when she calls out the name.

"Nika Wiley!"

Like a lot of years, the Peacekeeper are forced to grab Nika out of the crowd and carry her with them to the stage where she gets to stand next to Mother.

I don't know why Nika is so reluctant to go to the stage. If I had the opportunity to stand by Mother at the reaping, I would jump at the chance and run straight into Mother's open arms. But I guess she's my mother and not Nika's, so it would be a little strange if Nika ran straight into her arms.

Now it's time for the male.

"Emmer Lerete!"

Mother sounds so happy when she says both Nika's and Emmer's names. I'm sort of happy that she's happy, but I wish that she could be home here with me and Father and Armando and Noe. Then we could all be happy together.

This time, the boy that the Peacekeepers grab looks . . . different.

They lift him up in the air while his hands move in strange directions and he is formulates odd noises.

"What's happening, Father?" I ask, trembling. Father merely shakes his head and does not answer me.

"Wait!" Someone shouts. "Wait! I Volunteer! I Volunteer as tribute! Please! Take me! Not Emmer!" The person sounds very upset that Emmer was chosen. It's really nice of them to take his place.

Mother looks even happier than she looked before and she welcomes the Volunteer up onto the stage with a huge smile.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Cristano Lerete," he replies.

Mother wipes a tear from her eyes and I do too, because it makes me so sad to see Mother sad like this.

"My dear," Mother takes the large boy's hand and I pout. Why does he get to hold hands with Mother and I - her daughter - don't?

"Would that have been your brother?" Mother continues.

The boy nods furiously. "He is. And I would do anything for him. But he of all people cannot enter the Hunger Games . . . you see," the boy swallows and looks down. "Emmer's autistic . . . he would not last a single day in the arena . . . I love you Emmer . . ."

Mother gasps. "Well I am just touched by your devotion and sacrifice."

"Thank you," Cristano smiles warmly at Mother.

"Father?" I say. "Why does it matter if Emmer is artistic?"

Father laughs once and then just shakes his head again.

I shrug. I have bigger problems than Emmer being artistic. I am still waiting for Mother to come home.

"Father?" I repeat.

"What now, Aloetta?" He says. It sounds pretty mean the way he says it. Sometimes Father is mean to me. Mother is never mean to me though.

"After the Hunger Games end, Mother will be all finished with her work and she can come home, right?" I blink my blue-green eyes at him, pushing my dark brown bangs away from my pale, freckly face.

Father punches the air and explodes. "Dammit, Aloetta!"

I'm not really sure what "dammit" means, but I'm pretty sure it's not such a nice word.

I can feel myself beginning to cry again and Father sighs, putting his strong hand on my little shoulder.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Aloetta, I didn't mean that."

I continue to sob, tears pouring down my face. How I am supposed to grow up in a house with no mother, a father who gets mad at me a lot and a big brother and sister who are mean to me?

Father takes my face and bends down so that he is short just like me.

"Aloetta. My baby. Please. Hold on a little longer. Mother will be home soon, I . . ." he gulps and looks away from me. "I promise."

"Okay," I say after a moment's pause. I'm getting happy again now. "Okay, Father."

I skip off to my bedroom to do some coloring (I wonder if Emmer likes to color just like me?).

But even though I'm happy right now there's still that one weird word that Armando and Noe like to tease me with. It lurks in the back of my head and I can't get rid of it even though I don't even know what it means and Father always stops Armando and Noe before either of them can tell me.

Affair.

That's the word.

I really wonder what it means.

* * *

**Paramonia Arliess, Capitol (Female, 18)**

**District Twelve Fan**

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Arella - District Twelve's escort - welcomes everyone to the reaping and the introductory speeches and all of that stuff which has been repeated district after district occurs once again.

Meanwhile, I stare at myself in the mirror, adjusting my eye makeup slightly so that each strip of bright color lines up evenly to make my colorful eyelids pop.

I was not originally going to put a mirror in the Twelve Cave. But I couldn't resist. After all, I wouldn't want to look ugly when watching the Games. It wouldn't feel . . . right. It simply wouldn't be respectful.

Sometimes I question myself in watching the Games year after year. All they do is evoke tears when I observe my beautiful District Twelve tributes die each and every year of my life, the exception being Iris Nightingale, who won when I was eight.

I cross the Cave and massage my beautiful poster of Peeta Mellark. That luscious blond hair . . . I wish I could just touch it for real. That would be heavenly. I can only imagine what poor Peeta must have felt as his life, his world, his everything was taken from him at Katniss Everdeen's death.

My heart hurts just thinking about it.

At least Peeta got sweet little Iris, I think, walking along the perimeter of the Cave and settling on a poster of her as well. She truly lit up his world. She gave him hope, something to believe in, some purpose in life. And he, in turn, became like a second father to her.

The relationship between the people of District Twelve is so special. I doubt people are so close anywhere else in Panem, though I can't say for sure because I don't really pay much attention to the other districts or even the Capitol where I myself live.

With a sigh, I sit down on the coal-colored beanbag chair at the center of the Twelve Cave, directly facing the glorified television screen on which I watch the Games themselves.

Next to my beanbag is a stack of papers. I reach for them and pull out a "long live the Mockingjay" sign I made when I was five.

My parents were horrified, but I didn't care.

I was always fascinated by District Twelve; always positively in love with it and it's tragic story.

I turned my bedroom into the Twelve Cave when I was ten. It was a lovely idea, if I may say so myself.

I got rid of my comfortable bed. I much prefer to sleep on the floor anyway. It makes me feel like I am not just sitting here, a spoiled Capitol girl, while some poor little child in District Twelve does not have a bed to sleep in or food to eat or clothes to wear.

I still wear nice clothes though. It feels more respectful to the Twelve Cave and to District Twelve itself.

I painted the walls a rather ugly gray and it became stained over the years. That's good. It feels more realistic that way. I had the carpet ripped out. I left the mirror on the wall though, like I said before.

No one comes into the Twelve Cave. My parents don't bother me, having practically disowned me and all but thrown me out of the house. Good. I don't need them. Though it is a good thing I didn't get myself thrown out of the house, because this is where the Twelve Cave is.

I don't really have many friends to speak of either. Occasionally, I'll talk to someone in school, but the friendship ends there.

It's better that way. I was never a big fan of other kids my age here in the Capitol, or really the other Capitolites in general.

Sometimes I wish I was born into District Twelve. I feel like I would fit in better there. I never fit in here in the Capitol. I was always shunned by people who did not understand my interest, my fascination. But even those people who try to be nice and speak to me every once in a while - I don't really like them so much either.

That's why I spend my days here in the Twelve Cave. I come out to go to school and to eat but that's it. I spend the rest of the time up here pondering Peeta, Iris, Katniss, and everything else District Twelve related, and watching recaps of various years of the Hunger Games where the tributes from Twelve wound up being a little more prominent than most years.

I never get bored of my Cave: There's always another phone call to make, protesting President Balthazar for oppressing the people of such a fine district, for not giving them a little more money or a little more food to eat when people - infants through the elderly - are starving to death, or dying in the mines where they spend their entire days, trying desperately to support their families.

There's always another poster of Iris or Peeta or Katniss or Haymitch or Deseno (the latter two are the only other Victors Twelve has ever seen, and both of them have long since perished) that needs to be acquired or hung up.

There's always another death or victory scene of a Twelve tribute to watch over and over and over again, no matter how tear-evoking and heart-wrenching it is.

It's hard to watch but I think it's that very emotion and passion I feel when watching the death scenes that draws me even closer to District Twelve.

Arella Trinket is also someone I admire. There are a few photos of her as well, along with her mother, Effie, scattered throughout the Cave.

"Desilee Barice!" Arella announces with pride. "Come on down, Desilee. You should be so honored to be representing District Twelve in this year's Hunger Games!"

After a few minutes, Peacekeepers run to pick up tiny little twelve-year-old Desilee's small body, frozen in her place, when all of a sudden, another voice comes out of nowhere.

"Let me go instead!" Cries the voice and I gasp, bringing my palm to my widened mouth. Is this really happening? Is it really true? Does District Twelve have another Volunteer? I immediately think of Katniss, and I can see that poor Peeta up on stage is reminded of her as well.

Peeta touches his hand to his heart and whispers something to himself.

"Well come on up then, my darling!" says Arella. "Wow, I simply cannot believe it! Here in Twelve we have not had a Volunteer since-"

"Katniss Everdeen," Peeta interrupts loudly, standing up.

Arella looks baffled and all eyes are now on Peeta who quickly mutters an apology and sits down again, face blushing red.

Iris offers him a comforting smile.

"Why yes," says Arella. "Katniss Everdeen, indeed."

I brush a tear away from my eyes, hoping that I had not been so stupid as to wear non water-proof mascara, because this reaping will surely cause it to run if so.

The new Volunteer marches up to the stage, radiating a certain confidence.

I smile to myself. It's about time Twelve got a confident Volunteer like this girl. With any luck she'll bring home a District Twelve victory quite soon. What a happy twist of events that would be for us all!

"And what is your name, sweetheart?"

"Arryn Vance!" she says, loud and strong.

There is shrieking from the audience. Some yell her name, some simply scream. I assume these people are her family. I assume she did not tell them that she was planning on Volunteering. I can only imagine what those poor people must be thinking when all of a sudden they see their daughter up on stage, about to sacrifice herself to some Career tribute or to the arena.

Unless of course, she makes me proud and emerges victorious. And I have faith that she might do just that.

"Wonderful!" Arella exclaims. "Simply wonderful! And now for the males: . . . Sebastian Brundyn!"

A bulky, tall boy bounces straight up from the seventeen-year-olds section and bursts onto the stage next to Arryn and Arella.

"Nice to meet you," he extends his hand to shake each of theirs.

"Woo!" Sebastian cheers. "That's right! Sebastian Brundyn and Arryn Vance: The power team from District Twelve here to take on the Hunger Games by force!"

I too bounce up from my seat, clapping and cheering for both Arryn and Sebastian.

They truly have the potential to win this thing, and I am so beyond proud of them for it.

Maybe Peeta and Iris will finally be joined by a new Victor this year.

* * *

**The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script**

* * *

**Happy 2014 everybody! :D**

**There you go! The reapings xD**

**Next chapter we will hear from 12 of your tributes in the chariot rides and first day of training. Stay tuned ;)**

* * *

**Not much to say about the chapter. Obviously, there are not going to be so so many fans of the outer districts, but obviously not everyone is a District Twelve fangirl in the Capitol (cough cough Paramonia) but I figure every district must have some devoted people supporting it every year :D Yeah also most of the tributes weren't so heavily featured here, it more focused on the Capitol people, but I had a lot of fun with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it regardless. I feel like when the reapings focus too heavily on the tributes' reactions to being reaped it tends to get repetitive . . .**

* * *

**You're review was really juicy. You know who you are. Give me another juicy one, yeah thanks**

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**Aaaaaaaannnnnnnddddd now for the questions! I would appreciate it so much if you took the time to answer them :D**

**_Which of these 12 Capitolites stood out to you, if any, and why?_**

_**Which of the tributes stood out to you, if any, and why?**_

_**And, of course, how was my writing in this chapter? (yes, I will ask this every chapter but I guess if you want you can skip it if it feels too repetitive)**_

**Also, if you want to skip the "whys" in the questions feel free to do that as well xD It's all up to you, my dear readers xD**

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**One last thing: One of the tributes (Daphne, the District Six Female) has changed a lot on her blog post. It's kind of a long story, but yeah, the submitter wound up changing a lot about her and so yeah . . . you can go check out the new Daphne if you'd like.**

**See you next time :D**


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